You're being blackmailed.
It was comical, really, how quickly Cooper had cut through to the heart of her hellish existence.
Blackmail. Calla considered the word as she reclined on the couch, her head propped on her favorite pillow, a glass of wine in her hand, while Cooper hovered over the coffee table, memorizing the four little words that had ruined her life.
I know your secret.
"The email was just the beginning," she started, staring at her muddled reflection in the wine. She told him, then, about the summer before their freshman year—the long, agonizing procession of days spent waiting for the other shoe to drop, wondering when the bright new future she'd dreamed about so fervently might come to a screeching halt. But the days passed. And passed. And passed. Until eventually, the note in her graduation cap—buried in a box beneath her bed, an old trick she'd picked up from her overly curious neighbor—faded into the background. Empty threats. Forgotten promises.
A foolish hope.
"And then, about a week after I moved into the dorms, I got a phone call from an unknown number." Calla grimaced as the tale drew to its inevitable end. "I didn't think anything of it. But whoever it was, they kept calling. So I finally answered."
She remembered that day in vivid detail. The sun on the back of her neck as she paused on the sidewalk a block from her new dorm, surrounded by suburban lawns and the distant drone of moving trucks. Her voice had been a flat line when she'd asked, "Who is this?"
A digitized voice, neither male nor female, had answered: "I know your secret."
She'd almost hung up, right there on the sidewalk—had contemplated it for the better half of a minute, when the voice spoke again. "This can go one of two ways," they'd told her. "You can hang up the phone and earn yourself a lifetime in prison, or..."
"Or?" she'd prompted, head full of white noise.
"Or you can do exactly as I say."
Calla had stood there in stoic silence, frozen to the spot. Caught between panic and a tidal wave of helpless fury.
She felt the echo of that fury now, even after two years. The anger had never left her. A part of her wondered if it ever would, or if her life would always be this—dancing around the kernel of wrath that roosted inside her chest, a blaze that might rise up at any instant and consume her.
Cooper joined her on the couch, careful to avoid her feet. "Go on."
Calla heaved a sigh. "There isn't much more to the story." Cooper looked at her as though he very much doubted that. She took another sip of wine. "Whoever it is, they've taken great pains to cover their tracks. The email address, the phone number. None of it can be traced. And when they call, their voice—it's distorted beyond recognition. No tone. No accent. Nothing."
"So they just..." He spread his hands, at a loss. "Help me out here. I'm trying to figure out how this started, but I need you to fill in the blanks."
Calla tapped a finger against the edge of her glass. "When I agreed to their terms—their terms that weren't really terms, obviously, but more of a do what I say or I'll turn this lovely video of you murdering an innocent girl over to the police..." She trailed off at his exasperated look. "Well, I was under the impression it would be a...a one-and-done sort of job. Like, I just had to do this one, awful thing to avoid this other awful thing. Easy."
"Of course," Cooper agreed sarcastically. He'd left his glass of wine in the kitchen, a decision he now seemed to regret. His fingers skimmed over the tops of his knees, restless. "Because that's always how things go for us. No muss, no fuss."
She sniffed. "Anyway. They gave me a name and an address and told me to take care of the problem, and do it quietly, and send over a picture of the body once I'd...finished."
"Let me guess. It didn't stop there."
She cast him an impatient look. "Obviously not. One job turned into another. And another..."
He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. Softly, he asked, "How many?"
She took her time with the answer. The lie is easier, she'd told him. But he didn't want her lies. So she gave him the truth, as she had from the start. "Five, so far." She paused. "There's still one more to go."
"Five," he repeated slowly. "With one more to go. So that's..."
"Six in total," she finished for him, tucking her legs beneath her as she sat upright.
Six names. The irony was not lost on her.
Tracy. Jacob. Rachel. Jessica. Cory. Venus. Their deaths were on her head—each of them in their own way. And now she would have six more names to add to that tally.
"Six." Cooper closed his eyes. Balled his hands into fists. "Six people..." He faltered, daring a glance at her face. They examined one another in the stretch of silence that followed. Until— "So you really have no idea who's doing this?" he asked, for what had to be the third or fourth time.
"No." Her anger sparked. Hello, old friend. "But..."
"But?"
Calla rolled her eyes. "Well, obviously I've given it some thought, haven't I? This bastard, whoever they are, is actively trying to ruin my life. She hesitated. Just tell him. He already knows too much. "There are no obvious commonalities between the six targets. Five men. One woman. Only two in the group were felons. The others..." She sipped her wine. "Clean records, so far as I can tell. And scattered across the country. New York. California. Florida." She paused. "And Raleigh."
He perked up at that. "Raleigh's awful close to home." This pronouncement appeared to trouble him. His forehead creased, even as his teeth snagged the bottom of his lip. "Whoever's behind this has gotta be someone we know. And they'd probably have a grudge against you."
She tipped her glass in grudging agreement.
"Which leaves..." He frowned. "I mean, not that we should act on this theory, like...at all," he emphasized, most likely for her benefit. "But I guess...the twins know your secret. And Blake's a tech genius. If anyone could hide their digital tracks, it'd be him."
Calla settled back against her pillow. "I thought the same. Blake had access to Steph's computer, and all the evidence that came with it."
"He said he wiped it clean," Cooper argued. And then he sighed. "But there's no way to prove it. All we've got is his word to go on." He groaned in frustration. "I just don't see it. Blake's not the vengeful type. And even if he was, why would he have a grudge against you? You saved his brother's life."
Calla lifted a shoulder in puzzled acknowledgement. These were the same arguments she'd run through countless times before, in the quiet, solitary hours before dawn, her mind abuzz as she lay awake in the dark of her room, seeking some way, any way, to slip free of the noose around her neck.
"Right." Cooper's fingers danced across his knees in a nervous rhythm. "Well, while we're on the topic of grudges. What about the detective? Michaels has clearly got it out for us after what happened to his son. You, in particular," he added for good measure.
Gerald fucking Michaels. Calla's foul mood soured further. "Which would make this a case of good, old-fashioned revenge." She smiled a mocking smile. "You kill my son, I make your life a living hell and bury you under so much dirt, you'll never claw your way out."
"Glad we're staying cheerful," he muttered.
"What about this is giving cheerful?" she asked, exasperated. "What's wrong with you? Why are you so..." she gestured in his general direction, "okay with this?"
Cooper stood then, scraping the hair out his eyes. "I'm not okay with this. I'm not okay with you killing..." He expelled a long breath before reclaiming his seat. "I'm not okay with this," he repeated, the words raw in his throat.
Calla set aside her glass of wine. "You don't have to be okay with this. It just is." She added an edge to her next words. "There's someone else who could be behind this. Someone you missed."
A few seconds ticked past. Calla wondered if he'd heard her through the frenzy of his own thoughts. But then he blinked and looked at her, bleary-eyed. "Astrid, you mean."
"Astrid."
The cushion at her feet dipped as he turned to face her. "I thought you let her go," he said softly.
Not Astrid. Rachel.
It always came back to Rachel.
Calla's eyes lowered as she tried to picture the face she'd once known better than her own. But time eroded all things, and it had taken those last reminders she'd carried for so long with it. All she could see now was a flash of black hair, a vague memory of strawberry shampoo, a sliver of a smile. And then even that was gone.
"I did." Calla wrapped her arms around her legs, propped her chin on her knees. "But we have to be realistic. Astrid could be the one behind this."
Cooper didn't bother hiding his skepticism. "Explain."
"Do you remember what I told you," she started slowly, "in the gym, about Astrid and the flash drive?"
He closed his eyes, presumably replaying the events of that horrid day. "You said you had proof. Proof that she was the one who killed Rachel." He opened his eyes. "Supposedly."
"I've seen it for myself," she said quietly. "With my own eyes, Cooper. Astrid killed her."
She could show him, she supposed. Dig up Stephanie's flash drive and boot up her computer and watch her best friend die once more—just once more...
Cooper flinched, and Calla immediately dismissed the idea. "That doesn't mean—"
"Cooper. If Blake told his brother about the evidence Steph collected, all of the evidence, then they both know Astrid's the one who killed Rachel, just like we do."
"Okay. So?"
"Think about it," she growled, impatient. "The twins know what I'm capable of. If Mike thought there was a chance I'd go after Astrid..."
"He probably would've wanted to give her a heads-up. Just in case." Cooper swore. "Which means she might know that you know—"
"—that she killed my best friend. This could be her way of eliminating me as a threat. Burying me under a mountain of sin to absolve her own. I'd never be able to go after her."
"But if she already had that evidence against you, if she somehow convinced the twins to hand it over, for her own safety..." Cooper shook his head. "Why go to all this trouble? She could keep you at arm's length just by threatening to take your video to the police. And you could do the same to her. That alone would put you two at a stalemate."
"I don't know." Calla brushed her damp hair over her shoulder. "Maybe it's because she hates me. Maybe it's because she's more sadistic than she looks. It could be anything. Either way, I've been keeping tabs on her."
Cooper gazed at her with growing alarm. "And that means what, exactly?"
"Nothing overly insidious," she promised with a small smile. "I know the basics. She's got two roommates. An ugly little dog. Currently enrolled in the nursing program over at the University of Rochester..."
Cooper pinched the bridge of his nose. "How do you know all of this?"
"I'm a girl, Cooper. Stalking socials is an art form." At his incredulous look, she shrugged. "She's blocked me on basically everything, so I created a few burner accounts, profiles she wouldn't suspect. It was really very easy."
"Creep."
"On my resume, it says detail-oriented professional with a knack for creative problem-solving."
He grinned, surprising them both. "Of course it does."
"Anyway," she said, secretly pleased by his reaction, "Astrid's been posting about this Halloween party at a club up in Rochester. Her friend's DJ'ing, apparently."
"Let me guess." Cooper's smile soured. "You're going to the party."
"Of course I am."
"That won't do you any good, you know." His eyes narrowed. "Unless you plan on doing something really stupid—"
"Astrid's only half the reason," she broke in, before he could climb up on his soapbox and really get going. "I bought my ticket to the event before I knew she would be there."
He frowned, puzzled. "Why? Rochester's a two hour drive. I know this place is pretty lame, but it's not that bad."
She gazed past him, to the window at his back. There were no stars, not on this night. Only the cold press of darkness. "My dearest blackmailer called two weeks ago, out of the blue. They do that sometimes," she explained at his look of alarm. "For status reports, and such. This time, they told me—" She sneered. "Well, forced me to get a ticket to the event. I had no idea why, not then. Now I do."
Cooper waited for her to elaborate. When she didn't, he nudged her thigh with his knee. "Okay. I'll bite. Why do they want you in Rochester, of all places?"
She reached for her glass of wine and finished it off. "Because," she said simply, "my next target will be there."